After Girl Interrupted at Her Music by Vermeer
We elders are
given just so much room:
privy to what
is public –
the bulk of
the music master
as he hovers
over her,
the lesson on
the table
beside the
lute,
the wall
behind them
dim like the
past.
All that
matters here is now,
how she is
caught in the light
from the
stained glass window,
a light that
quickens
the impulse in
her young face
as she turns
to look
at something
beyond the picture.
Has the door
swung open?
Perhaps the
season blows in
and she wants
to follow
the scale of
colors
as the wind
lifts them
in crescendo.
Or she may
hear someone
sing her name
as he walks by
tipping his
hat
at the
threshold.
But she cannot
move
from her
master’s pose.
We elders pass
on
as if on a
train
after we have
spied
a hint of
youth
that we
touched
through glass
by chance with
a glance,
enough for a
synapse,
a spark to
occur
as if on the
rail
in the night,
a spark that
lingers
long after the
transport
fades from
sight.